


Right Next To You

by vinoharry



Series: High Voltage When We Kiss [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Model Harry, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Solo Artist Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3734653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinoharry/pseuds/vinoharry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry swallows thickly. Ever since they got together, after Zayn had attended a Lanvin fashion show just over a year ago, he hadn’t missed a single walk of Harry’s. He’s been at every show, ensured they didn’t have conflicting schedules, and watched Harry walk down the runway shirtless, in neon, with a huge hat, in platforms shoes at one point.</p><p>He's been a constant in the audience. The only eyes that ever mattered to Harry. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Zayn misses this one. </p><p>or, an AU where Harry's a model, Zayn's an R&B singer, and he may miss Harry's first show</p><p>OR pwp</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Next To You

**Author's Note:**

> a little birdy told me today that they wanted more 4k of zarry pwp so... this one's for you!

“Stop frowning Harry, you’ll crack your foundation.” Harry rolls his eyes at Lou’s scolding. She’s got a massive brush and is blending powder into his skin. She’s also got a deep, concentrated look on her face.

“M’not frowning,” Harry protest, although he does relax his forehead a bit. He had been scowling, not frowning. It’s the face he’ll make on the runway anyway.

“You are. Don’t worry, he’ll be here.”

“I don’t care, anyway.” He folds his arms across his chest, well aware of the strop he’s throwing. He’s got about half an hour before he’s got to change into his outfit and walk the runway.

“You do.” Sometimes Harry hates how well Louise knows him. He forgets that she’s been doing his makeup for years, since he started and before he met Zayn.

“I just-” Harry hesitates. He hates sharing details of his and Zayn’s relationship, especially when they’re both such sought after celebrities. “His flight was supposed to land an hour ago and he hasn’t messaged me yet. What if he doesn’t come?”

“He will, relax. You’ve still got an hour until the show.”

Harry picks at his short fingernails absentmindedly. “I know.”

“Good,” Louise grabs the eyelash curler, or as Harry calls it, Satan’s clamp. “Stop fidgeting, you’re worse than Lux.”

Harry obediently puts his hands in his lap, wishing more than anything that he had something to do, something to watch. “God. Here,” Louise hands him her phone, earphone already attached. She’s opened it to Zayn’s latest album. It’s the deluxe edition, with a total of 17 songs written for Harry.

He pops the earphones in, flipping through the songs until he gets to his favourite one.

Harry lets the music transport him back to when Zayn wrote it. He was naked, a thin cream coloured sheet across his lap as he sat against the headboard and had a burning cigarette poking out the side of his lip. They were in Sweden, some little cottage on a hill that Zayn had rented after his last Australian tour. Harry was lying by his feet, across the bottom of the bed. He was in these tiny black briefs; more love bites on his skin than tattoos. It had been their seven month anniversary. Zayn has poked Harry with his big toe, motioned for Harry to crawl up and kiss him. Harry remembers the way Zayn held his neck with one hand, cigarette carefully in the other while they kissed and kissed and kissed and ignored the world. Harry had sucked him off, until Zayn’s thighs were shaking and the notebook was pushed aside, pen somewhere under the sheets. Later, after Zayn had stubbed out his cigarette and ate Harry out until he was trembling; Zayn fucked Harry into the sheets, one hand on his throat, feeling each breath. Harry had mad bacon and cheese toasties for dinner.

Harry swallows thickly. Ever since they got together, after Zayn had attended a Lanvin fashion show just over a year ago, he hadn’t missed a single walk of Harry’s. He’s been at every show, ensured they didn’t have conflicting schedules, and watched Harry walk down the runway shirtless, in neon, with a huge hat, in platforms shoes at one point. 

He's been a constant in the audience. The only eyes that ever mattered to Harry. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Zayn misses this one.Harry doesn’t know what he’ll do if Zayn misses this one.

“Take a deep breath, and then change into your first outfit, alright?” Harry nods, removing the earphones reluctantly.

Caroline’s got a beautiful rose tunic for him to wear, with a semi-sheer floral motif. It’s expensive and light, Harry poking his arms through it and looking at himself in the thin mirror they’ve provided backstage. Other models are milling about, getting ready for the show with assistants and consultants galore. Some journalist from across the room catches his eye from where she’s interviewing a leggy blonde.

“Squeeze into these then, we’re almost ready.” She hands him a pair of black skinny jeans, metal conchos along the sides of each leg. They’re a bit of a tight fit, but Harry tucks his dick to the side then is ready to go.

Physically of course, because there’s not a way he’s mentally prepared to walk without Zayn. Not without an alien and a green heart emoji waiting for him on his phone. It’s their classic signal that Zayn’s seated, in the front row near the end of the catwalk so he can see Harry’s twirl. 

Harry takes a deep breath, steadies himself while models buzz around, tugging their shirts down or complaining about their dresses. They have to get in order soon, Harry’s somewhere near the middle of the first walk, but he gets four in total, twice as many as some newer models do.

He thinks of Zayn’s spicy cologne, his Gucci aftershave. He thinks of the way Zayn had kissed him before he left for his press circuit in Spain; two small pecks against his lips, one against the corner of his lips, and one to his forehead. Zayn’s fingers pressing into the pulse point of Harry’s wrist, steadying him.

They’ve got fifteen minutes until the show starts; Harry is nowhere near ready.

“This is the Psych Rock collection, look a little excited.” Harry nearly breaks his neck his head whips around so fast.

Zayn’s standing there, in ripped black jeans and a red jumper that’s Harry’s. It’s far too casual for an Yves Saint Laurent show, but he’s got a leather jacket thrown over top that looks punky.

“Hi,” Zayn says when Harry just stares at him.

“You’re here,” Harry says, flabbergasted.

“Where else would I be?” Zayn takes his hand, kisses his knuckles because he hates the taste of makeup.

“How’d you get back here?” There are _rules_ after all. Zayn’s tried to sneak backstage at a few shows and was always shooed away from knowing security guards.

“A little birdy found me in my seat and told me you were moping.” Harry finds Lou immediately and tries to do his best to glare. When his gaze returns to Zayn, his eyes are so bright, so full of love that Harry grins so wide he feels like his face is going to fall off.

“Ten minutes!!” A frantic looking woman in a headset calls out.

“I love you,” Zayn tells him, squeezing his wrist.

Harry nods, a little dazed. It doesn’t hit him until a few seconds later that Zayn’s retreating, getting ready to take his seat. “Love you!” He calls over models and assistants and dressers.

He’s ready.

-

After a show, Harry’s always high on adrenaline, shining from the lights, and eager to see Zayn.

He about tackles him when he sees him. He pushes past a few girls, wiggles past some men, and then he’s crushing Zayn in a massive hug. Harry’s only in an undershirt and a pair of tight briefs, but neither of them care.

“You were amazing,” Zayn tells him, pressing a kiss into the side of his sweaty head. It probably tastes like hairspray and mousse. “I loved the last outfit, steal it.”

Harry laughs, the motorcycle jacket is definitely up Zayn’s alley. He had been squeezed back into the pants he wore in the first walk, along with slightly heeled ankle boots. “Want to go home, want you.”

Zayn pulls him in for a short peck, chaste and private, just for them. Zayn looks a little tired, smells like stale plane-air from a lavishly private jet. They’ve got a good half hour car ride until they’re home, plenty of time for Zayn to nap before they shower and fuck. Well, hopefully.

There was a night after Zayn’s show in Oklahoma when he had fallen asleep while Harry was sucking his dick. He tried not to be too offended.

“Sure you don’t want to go to an after party?”

Harry shakes his head. He doesn’t know who’s going where; would rather spend a night with Zayn after their two week separation than spend time making sure the coked up models stay hydrated enough.

“Let’s get you home then.”

-

Harry stumbles into the too cold shower with a wad of makeup remover foamed in a pile on his hand. His skin pebbles with goosebumps until the shower warms up, raining on him and washing off the glitter that had been strategically rolled across his chest.

He lathers the remover all over his face, scrubbing at his forehead and predicting where the acne will pop up. His skin always speckles after a show, something that Zayn claims is adorable. “Reminds me that you’re young,” he had teased the first time Zayn stayed over after a show. It had been three months after they started dating, after Zayn had come back from some European city and came directly to a show. Harry had been so surprised by Zayn’s presence he had invited him for a sleepover afterwards.

They took things slow in the beginning, but Harry’s never done anything half assed. Not when he played dress up with Gemma and insisted on doing both her hair and makeup. Not when he took ballet lessons in year nine to perfect his balance and grace (which admittedly, only comes out on the runway). Not when he moved to London and paid for so many go-see appointments he had almost ended up sleeping on the streets.

But even when Harry had first laid eyes on Zayn, had first seen him with eyes so intense Harry thought he was going to burn through the sheer top he was wearing, he had already fallen half in love. So Harry protected himself. They went for coffees and dinners and Zayn came to every show Harry was in for a month before Harry was able to attend one of Zayn’s concerts. He was shuffled around to every stagehand and assistant, every body guard was told to familiarize themselves with Harry. When they finally had sex, Harry nearly cried with how perfect it was. There were awkward sounds and a few readjusting teeth and fingers, but it was brilliant, one of the best nights Harry can recall.

“Shove over,” Zayn says upon entering the stall.

It’s their shower, _theirs_. The first thing they had ever owned together was a house after nine months of dating. Anne had thrown a fit, talking Harry’s ear off about commitment and property, handing the phone to Des so he could talk about financial security and paying bills. It made sense though – they were always jetting off – Tokyo, Moscow, New York, LA, Sydney – it had made sense that they had a place to come home to, where they knew the other would be.

“Thanks for coming,” Harry says, soaping up his chest with the pineapple coconut body wash he favours.

“No place I’d rather be. You did great.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks. He’s been told tons of times, by tons of partners that modeling wasn’t that hard, that walking in a straight line was common nature. Every time Zayn tells him how well he did, validates his profession, Harry falls in love a little bit more.

“’Course,” Zayn says easily, reaching for his over-priced Acqua Di Parma shampoo that Harry steals when Zayn goes on tour.

“Missed you. How was Spain?”

“Spain-y. I tried to get a tan, but it was too cold.”

Harry had seen the pictures of Zayn by the pool in tiny red swim shorts. “Learn any Spanish?”

Zayn laughs, but doesn’t respond with anything. Harry had challenged him to learn how to say ‘I love you’ in the native language of every country he visited. So far, he’s not learned a thing. “Come _on_ , I heard that interviewer teach you some.”

“That was days ago, I don’t remember that.”

“Fine,” Harry pouts, ducking under the spray. He turns his back to Zayn petulantly, so he knows just how much trouble he’s in.

Zayn seems unbothered though, just snicks the cap of his body wash and grabs the loofah. Harry ignores Zayn when he taps Harry’s hip to move him over. He ignores Zayn’s hand snaking to his belly, brushing over the wet hairs that lead to his dick.

When Zayn circles his fingers around the patch of hair at the base of Harry’s dick, it starts to fatten up. Harry looks at it, betrayed.

“Know you want me,” Zayn murmurs. His lips are closer to Harry’s ear than he had expected. “Missed you, mi amor.”

Harry shudders, tilting his head back and finally giving in. He was going to anyway, but Zayn, fuck he’s the love of his life. He’s twenty-fucking-one and he’s found his soulmate.

“Love you, come on.”

Zayn jerks him slowly, kissing his neck and sucking a love bite into Harry’s pale skin.

“I have a photoshoot tomorrow,” Harry reminds him, grinding back against him in slow circles. It’s not until noon, but Louise is going to throw a fit if he shows up with another set of massive love bites. It’s a campaign for swimsuits, three or four other models joining him to splash around a lavish pool with improper heating.

“Guess I’ll have to keep them below the waist then.”

Harry moans, jerking his hips forward. “Please.” He’s already getting lightheaded, conditioner slicked to his hair.

“I’ve got you,” Zayn tells him. “Wash out your hair then come outside.”

Harry wants to protest that. Zayn’s not even conditioned his hair, nor has he properly washed off the soapy residue on his chest. Still, he watches Zayn’s arse as he exits the shower.

He turns around, washing his hair as quickly as possible, knowing it’s going to be styled tomorrow no matter what state it’s in. He towels off in record speed, squeezing and scrubbing his hair with the towel until he’s dropping it into the hamper. He’ll do the wash after he unpacks Zayn’s bag.

Harry announces his presence by jumping on the bed, jostling Zayn. “Hi,” he smiles, pecking Zayn’s lips.

“You smell good.” Zayn comments as he rolls Harry until he’s trapped underneath Zayn.

“You look good,” Harry wiggles his eyebrows, running his hands down Zayn’s sides before squeezing his arse. He lets his hands stay there, pulling his boyfriend’s crotch closer to his own. “Want you to fuck me, yeah?”

“Yeah babes,” Zayn kisses his nose, his forehead, before bringing their lips together. He licks into Harry’s mouth, claims it as his own before kissing his neck, brushing his lips against Harry’s clavicle. Harry shudders when Zayn takes a nipple into his mouth, teasing his teeth over it before clamping down lightly.

“Fuck,” Harry laughs, sprawling his legs to accommodate Zayn.

“Hold your thighs.”

“Yes,” Harry cheers, pulling his knees into his chest as Zayn crouches on the fluffy mattress.

Harry loves getting rimmed, loves when Zayn controls him. “Be good.”

Harry hums affirmatively before Zayn dives in. Or, maybe dive isn’t the right word. He bites the meat of Harry’s arse, makes a flippant comment about how it’s gotten bigger and how cute it is. Harry’s about to argue that it’s not cute, it’s firm and toned, when Zayn licks over his hole.

Harry gasps, clenching around nothing when Zayn pulls back to kiss a trail to his balls, taking one in his mouth upon arrival. Zayn’s meticulous with everything; he won’t leave the studio until his voice sounds perfect (Harry thinks it always does), he won’t give assent to a track until the beats sexy enough (Harry thinks every beat is sexy), he won’t let Harry sleep until he’s messy and sweaty and has come covering his body (Harry thinks it’s pretty great).

The backs of Harry’s knees are already slick with sweat, his forehead beading from the stuffy room. He really should have opened a window, let some fresh air in because he knows he’s going to pass out as soon as Zayn’s done with him. Which, hopefully won’t be for hours upon hours.

“Missed this,” Harry babbles, glancing down at Zayn’s bobbing head. He’s still teasing Harry, still won’t fully eat his arse.

Zayn hums noncommittally, spreading Harry’s cheeks with a finger. Harry tries to brace himself for the contact, tries to breathe evenly while Zayn licks at his rim. It’s still a surprise with Zayn gets his tongue in him, licks him out with purpose.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry moans, tucking his tailbone to get closer.

Zayn squeezes his arse cheek, keeping Harry right where he is. “Don’t move,” he instructs, voice dropped an octave like when he sings sexy songs about fucking on dollar bills.

Harry’s a mess, damp hair sticking to his face, his neck. He can feel sweat collecting in his armpits. He has to readjust his hands several times as Zayn takes him apart, stretching him with his tongue and teeth. Harry’s always liked it a little rough, loves the feeling of Zayn’s stubble as he rubs his cheek against Harry’s stretched skin.

Zayn knows it too, keeps rubbing his beard over Harry’s skin, unaffected by Harry’s whining above him. He wants more, always wants more.

When Zayn gets a finger on him, slicked by saliva, Harry clenches so hard he has to count while he breathes. Zayn strokes his cock, making sure he stays hard while he fucks him with his finger, gets him filthy with his spit. Harry loves how messy it is, can’t wait to get them tested so they can fuck without a condom, so he can feel Zayn in him.

Zayn continues to stretch him while Harry flails on the mattress. He’s let go of one of his legs, focusing on not kicking Zayn every time Zayn presses on his prostate.

“M’gonna come,” Harry moans, flopping his head about.

“Don’t,” Zayn rasps, nosing his balls when he fits three fingers into him. It’s a stretch after all these weeks of him being gone. Harry’s toys never quite fill him as well as Zayn does.

“Please,” he pleads, fisting the mattress. He’s got a spindly feeling in his stomach, toes tingling.

“I said don’t, Harry.” He fucks his fingers more urgently, Harry whining above him and twitching. Zayn had written a song about the way Harry reacts to being rimmed, but it had unsurprisingly not made the album. It was vulgar and explicit, Harry learning the words so he can sing it when they make dinner.

“Fuck me.”

“Harry,” Zayn warns, removing his hands. Harry whines louder, bashing his heel against the mattress like a child throwing a tantrum. “Stop that.”

“Want it.”

“What do you want, huh?”

Harry stares at Zayn, at his spit-slick mouth, red, red lips and his blown eyes. He’s got some saliva in his scruff, but he seems focused on Harry.

“Fuck me, I already said.”

Zayn sits up; a gap made between them that’s juts unacceptable. Harry scrambles to get to his knees, but Zayn pushes him back. “Say please.”

“Please. Please fuck me, I missed you. Please, please,” Harry wants it so bad. He’s stretched and warm and wants to be fucked by his favourite person in the world.

So Zayn does. He gets a condom and Harry’s favourite lube. He gets his fingers nice and wet then fingers him again, a bit more aggressively. There’s too much lube, Harry can feel it dripping out of him, down his arse cheek, but doesn’t say a word. He wraps a leg around Zayn’s calf when he lines up, tugging him into him when Zayn slides in.

There’s a moment of resistance before Harry feels himself relax, body giving into Zayn as he relaxes against the mattress and feels Zayn withdraw. His lips are pressed against Harry’s chest, hair tickling Harry’s chin as he fucks into him slowly.

Harry fingers dig into Zayn’s shoulder blades, feels them shift as Zayn holds himself up.

It’s fucking magical the way Harry’s body responds to everything Zayn does. His lips, his hands, his dick, Harry can’t get enough. “Good?” Zayn asks. He grinds against him, Harry’s eyes rolling back.

“Yeah, fuck.”

Zayn laughs, nipping Harry’s Adam’s apple. He puffs out a little breath when withdraws his hips, fucking into Harry the smallest amount faster. Harry arches his back, tries to meet Zayn thrust for thrust, but all he really does is buck around.

It feels like ages since he’s had a dick in him; he loves it more than Zayn does, but the night before Zayn left, he had bottomed, whispering filthily that he wanted to feel it on the plane the next day.

Zayn speeds up, until Harry’s quivering and shaking, dick leaking between their stomachs. He’s digging his nails into Zayn’s shoulders, trying to find purchase with how much he’s aching for it. He feels floaty, sweaty, sticky. Like he’ll come at any moment. He babbles Zayn’s name, tries to get permission, but Zayn’s relentless.

He bats Harry’s hand away when he tries to jerk himself, bites down where Harry’s shoulder meets his neck, fueled by the groan Harry emits.

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love you,” Harry gasps, repeating it a second time just before their lips meet.

“Love you. Missed you so much, missed fucking you,” Zayn tells him. He’s close – Harry can tell by the way Zayn starts to talk. For someone who carefully plans everything they’re going to say, when Zayn’s close to an orgasm he starts confessing his love. It’s adorable but frightening. The first time he’d said he loved Harry, he was drunk off his face and had been fucking Harry from behind, pushing his head into the mattress.

It was confusing to say the least.

Nevertheless, Harry’s come to love the way Zayn babbles, calls him good and starts fucking into him so hard that Harry has to steady himself against the bed or he feels like he’d go straight through the wall.

“Fuck, Zayn, Zayn. I need to touch,” Harry whines, tears prickling his eyes.

“No, no. Fuck, I love you. God.”

Harry manages half a snort, “Love you, let me come.”

“Fuck, just, _fuck_ -” Harry feels Zayn spill into the condom, wishes he was spilling into him. He’s sad for about a millisecond before Zayn withdraws, Harry feels empty.

Harry strokes his sweaty neck, finds his lips and kisses him. Zayn’s pretty useless, trying to move his hips, but it doesn’t do much. “Suck me off, let me come,” Harry pleads, hand getting slapped away for the second time tonight.

“I’ve got you, roll over.” His hair’s a fucking mess, Harry wants to ruin it some more.

Harry does as he says, lifting his arse in the air. He lies on his forearms, focusing his breathing as Zayn’s tongue touches him for the second time. He can feel the lube leaking out of his arse, Zayn’s tongue slicking him up more. It’s wet and dirty; his beard scraping against his arse is more sensitive than before.

When he gets three fingers in there easily, starts to tease at the prospect of having a fourth, Harry shouts into the sheets, slobbering all over them.

“Let me come, please. Zayn, Zayn love you, please.”

Zayn makes an awful slurping sound that goes straight to Harry’s dick, blurting out a fat strip of come. “Please. Zayn, love you. ”

“Come on. Come,” Zayn tells him, crooking and twisting his fingers.

Harry shoots into the mattress, flopping right into it even though Zayn’s still rimming him.

“Fuck,” he laughs, rolling onto his back. He automatically swings his arms around Zayn’s neck, pulling him in for a hard kiss. Zayn’s lips taste like lube, his tongue even worse when it snakes into his mouth. “God, I love you.”

“Love _you_. Love your arse. I swear it’s gotten bigger.”

“Might have,” Harry shrugs. He’ll never admit to doing the YouTube videos of how to get a Kim K arse two times a day. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

“Sleep, you’ve got to be a big fancy model tomorrow.”

“Come with me,” Harry suggests, avoiding the wet patch as he wraps Zayn’s arms around his waist. He’s got no idea where the condom’s gone, but he has a sneaking suspicion he’ll accidentally step on it in the morning.

“No way,” Zayn laughs, nuzzling into the back of Harry’s neck. “Lou’ll kill me for the way your neck looks.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope you all enjoyed :)
> 
> you can find me on [tumblr](www.vinoharry.tumblr.com/)
> 
> here's what harry wore::
> 
> [ysl band collar tunic](http://www.ysl.com/ca/shop-product/men/ready-to-wear-tunic-band-collar-tunic-in-ivory-and-rose-modal-and-virgin-wool_cod37646419fm.html#dept=spring%20summer%2015_men_/)
> 
> [ysl low waisted concho skinny jeans](http://www.ysl.com/ca/shop-product/men/ready-to-wear-denim-pants-original-low-waisted-concho-skinny-jean-in-raw-black-stretch-denim_cod36618010xa.html#dept=spring%20summer%2015_men_/)  
>    
> [ysl officer motorcycle leather jacket](http://www.ysl.com/ca/shop-product/men/ready-to-wear-leather-jacket-officer-motorcycle-jacket-in-black-washed-leather_cod34485707dp.html#dept=spring%20summer%2015_men_/)  
>    
> [cropped boot in black leather](http://www.ysl.com/ca/shop-product/men/shoes-santiag-santiag-40-harness-cropped-boot-in-black-leather_cod44764575nj.html#dept=spring%20summer%2015_men_/)


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